He was quiet for a minute. And then asked me how 'whatsername' was. I reached over to the jug at the side of his bed and poured him a glass of Vimto.
“Dawn's on the other side of the hospital here. Apparently, she’s out of her coma now. But I don’t know anything more than that. You saw… he very nearly killed her. Even without the help of bullets.”
“I know. I've seen some shit on the estates in my time. But never anything like that.”
I picked up a magazine that Jess had left on the chair next to the bed for him. It was ‘Yorkshire Life,' and I wagged it at him;
“Did you know that Mason – Dawn's eldest - admitted that he shot Vinnie?”
This was news to Shaun.
“Blimey. He shot his own dad? Really? Shit. I was thinking that it must have been your Chiswick bloke that shot him. I couldn’t exactly see much from where we were. But, God. His own dad?”
I nodded.
“But he wasn’t his dad. His real dad, I mean. Vinnie was the father of the other two kids. But anyway. All the same.”
Shaun looked me straight into the eyes. Unwaveringly. He held his gaze.
“Meladdo was alright though… Your minister pal. Not a bad job. Clearly made of the invincible stuff. Golden Boy. Luck of the Gods maybe...?”
I gave him a bleak smile;
“Yes, he does seem to be a bit like that, at the moment. Everything bouncing off him. But he assures me it’s just a phase - that he gets enough of the crap the rest of the time.”
Footsteps at the door announced the arrival of a male nurse - clipboard in hand, but instead of speaking to Shaun, he looked at me;
“Can I ask who you are? We don’t have a note of your arrival at the nursing station.”
I smiled. All friendly, like.
“That’s because your colleagues were too busy gassing in order to pay me any attention.”
He frowned. Annoyed at me for dobbing his medical chums in.
“Well, Mr Elliot is still under strict observation and we can only allow very close family members in to visit. So how might you be related?”
I grabbed hold of Shaun’s hand.
“I might be his wife,” I said. Smirking.
“But his wife just left…” the man looked befuddled. He stared at Shaun. “She, uhm. She asked us to do a double check on your meds… as you were mentioning the pain again.”
I carried on gurning at the fella. I realised that I probably looked a bit manic. But right now, I was past caring about anything. The world had gone to hell in a handcart over the weekend and I was only an inch away from completely losing the plot.
Shaun was trying to let go of my hand. I wouldn’t let him. His eyes wavered over to mine again. He was looking a tad bit unnerved. My nails dug into his skin.
“So… huhm,” asked the nurse again. “Can I ask again, who you might…?”
I stopped smiling. I could feel my nostrils flare. Horsey Madam.
“I told you!” I snapped. “I might be his wife! A man can have more than one wife, you know! It’s a cultural issue. An ethnic thing. I would have thought that someone who works for the NHS would have realised that it’s quite offensive to challenge other people’s traditions in terms of societal ‘norms’ – with regards to relationships.”
I felt Shaun cringe. Ha. I jerked my chin towards the big lug in the hospital bed and heard my voice deliver a rather impressive baritone as I held the copy of ‘Yorkshire Life' out to him.
“… And although he might live in Manchester – he’s actually from Yorkshire. Yorkshire is a nation unto itself in terms of customs and unusual practices. I mean… have you never heard of places like Hebden Bridge? We do things a bit differently there. Surely you… know about Hebden Bridge?”
Shaun emitted a guttural groan. Until this point, he had been trying his best at a bit of bravado-male eye contact with the chap - which, to be honest – he had never been much cop at with his peer group anyway - and then he surrendered, coming out with;
“Look, mate – just give us ten minutes, alright? It’s all a bit complicated.”
The nurse gawped at me – lady with the freaky grin, refusing to let go of Shaun’s fingers. He noted the other bloke’s acquiescence and he finally got the picture. He scribbled something onto the patient’s medical chart – probably something about upping the levels of morphine and tailing-off on the number of wives.
And then he left us to it.
CHAPTER 35
I let go of his hand. Feeling ever-so light headed. Bit of a giddy-kipper.
“Hey, Shaun. That’s a first! First time ever that you’ve had to panic over being caught out for something that you weren’t actually up to…” I walked to the window, taking in the skyline of the more marketable side of suburban Manchester.
“What the hell did you talk about… wives and that for? That was just stupid.”
I chuckled and moved closer to the window. Nose touching the cool glass. Making puffs of steam as I exhaled.
“Yeah, well. You know me and authority. The minute they impose all of these ridiculous rules about relatives-only and visiting hours. It just gets my back up. And anyway, if people like me didn’t fiddle around with the regulations – people like you would only have Jess as a visitor. Because your only other relative is Ozzy the Cat. And he’d be far too germy and furry to be allowed into the building.”
“Cheers, Stan. Just rub it in, why don’t you? We can’t all have hordes of interfering barmy blood-relatives from Stalybridge marauding through our lives.”
Fair enough. It wasn’t his fault that both sets of his natural and adopted parents were dead. I might be getting better at tackling Shaun head-on these days, but I wasn’t one for sticking the knife in and giving it a good twist. So, I changed the subject and asked when he expected to be back at work;
“I've been working this morning. Emails from my phone. Picking up stuff that Roger should have done. Jesus, yeah, it really is a pain that I won't have Casey batting for my side anymore.”
One-track mind, or what?
“Yes. How very inconsiderate of her. Getting killed off before she could fix up the new chief executive's terms and conditions for you.”
He seemed to take the point, as there was silence for a few seconds. And then he said;
“Actually, Stan. There is something that I need to tell you. I wasn’t going to say anything, but… honesty being the best policy and all of that. And given the visit that I’ve already had from DI Dave and his pal… who tell me that there’s going to be an IPCC investigation.”
I turned away from the window and tapped my fingers against my elbows. He continued;
“The reporter involved in it all. Erin Mayo. She works as northern correspondent for News of the Nation too. Sort of an assistant to that big-shot celeb journalist - that Simone Shaw.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied. “And I can't believe that they found out about the launch. I wouldn’t have invited them over my dead body. ‘Scuse the pun.”
He just looked at me. Through me.
Penny dropping moment.
“Shaun? Shit. No way. No way! You mean to tell me … that you got them to come along to the event? Fed them some titbits! That you told them about Michael being a VIP guest there and did it to – what? Embarrass him?”
He shifted uncomfortably. Reached for his glass of Vimto. Said nothing.
“Well. You know, Stan. You know what was going on between our lot and the government. What is going on I mean. Over the budget cuts.”
“Frigging hell, Shaun! So, this was all – your doing? You were the one who… yes, I remember now! You pissed off to the back of the hall when we were stood with Kath Casey for the photos… You got them into the sodding building, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Your receptionist let them through when I instructed her to. And I’m not ashamed of that. I’ve got to look out for the best interests of my patch. And if your Mr Chiswick is playing silly buggers with us and cutting the revenue flow.
Well. Why shouldn’t we play the game the proper way? Invite his adversaries along to cause a bit of bother. Just stirring it. Nowt major!”
I was stewing. Steaming. I ranted. I raved for about five minutes and then ended it with;
“I can’t believe that you’d stoop so low! Don’t you see what you did? Because of all the hassle with getting Erin and her cameraman into the building - the police reckon this is how Vinnie sneaked in, behind them both!”
Shaun shrugged. Gifted at nonplussed dismissal. He even had the gall to blame the police and Michael Chiswick's team for not being 'competent enough' in their jobs.
He put the glass down and reached for a handful of grapes. Managed to toss two into his mouth.
“And actually,” he chewed and swallowed, pointing a finger at me. “Don’t be thinking that your man Chiswick’s some great big hero. Easy for him to swan about all macho-like when he’s wearing a bullet-proof vest. Some of us don’t get issued with that kind of protection when we work for a local authority.” He lobbed another grape into his mouth.
“… I was bloody lucky that the bullet wasn’t just a couple of inches lower, the doctors said. And meanwhile, your fella knows damned well that he’s padded up in comparison to us other muppets in the hall. Bet you never thought to check out whether his undies are Kevlar-laminated, did you?”
He removed a pip from his lips and pinged it onto the hospital floor.
No, though. I hadn’t noticed a bullet-proof vest hanging about the boudoir on Saturday night. I had been more than a little bit preoccupied.
But his seeds of doubt had been duly sown, so I flared up again – this time with an added dose of defensiveness.
“Just listen to you, Shaun! Look at you! I came here today – wanting to see for myself that you’re okay. Because I do give a shit about you. And fuck knows why, now that …”
I was simmering, my face was on fire. I turned round and stalked out of the room, hearing him calling after me;
“Hey – hold your horses, Stan!”
I strode past the nurses' station and yelled over my shoulder;
“Just fuck off, you fucking imbecile!”
There were no nurses at the desks right now and I was glad of this; no-one to see me shrieking obscenities down the passageway like some sort of Mancunian fishwife. But then the exit door into the main hospital corridor wouldn't open. So, I shouted a string of curses aimed at the inconvenience of security doors and the failings of the NHS in general and received a thumbs-up from a chap who had his leg in traction on one of the beds in another side room. I could hear Shaun still calling me from his hospital bed and then a buzzer sounded. Seconds later, the same male nurse scurried over to me and asked me to keep the noise down and to go back into the room to make “peace with your husband, who seems rather agitated and is asking for you.”
So, I flounced back into the room, all-intent on giving Shaun a snarl and the one-fingered salute. But I saw that he was holding up his hand in a gesture of surrender. It unnerved me then – just as it did before in the hall on Saturday when faced with Vinnie and the gun.
“Just let me say this,” he spoke quietly. “Have you not had a phone call this morning? Or an email?”
I clicked my tongue. I would give him the benefit of a few seconds. Nothing more.
“Yes. I’ve had a million. And I've hardly had a second to — ”
“Well, as I said to you before – I’ve had a fair few phone calls myself this morning. And one of them – first thing after nine AM… was asking for me to provide a reference. For you.”
I pushed the door back, closing it again. Nosey nurses now back at the station were trying to earwig the Hebden Bridge threesome family dispute.
“What the hell are you on about? I’ve not applied for any jobs. And even if I had. You’d be the last person I’d put down for a referee, anyway.”
Shaun threw out a strikingly good impression of Lydia's 'God, Mum - you're thick' face at me.
“No. Get with the picture. Not a reference for you, personally. One for Sisters’ Space. A reference for a funding bid. Some application that you made a bit back – one which ended up getting rejected. The Ellen Elevation Foundation or something.”
“Yeah?” I remembered that. “The bastards said that our budget projections hadn’t been robust enough. It’s always the same these days; you can’t even get it past their bloody desk officers. Kids aged about thirteen or something – making decisions - no experience of life – and your entire service is in the hands of some wet behind the ears, little brown-nosing…”
“Well, don’t be dissing them now. Seems that you’ve been successful. Seems that they’ve reconsidered their original rejection of the women’s centre.”
“What?”
I stopped my gob. And then my mouth dropped open. Guppy face. Shaun mirrored it with a broad smile.
“Yep. They called me. Wanted to run it past me. Whether I thought that Sisters’ Space was fit for purpose enough. Did I approve of this grant that they’ve now decided that they want to furnish you with.”
“Bloody hell. I mean… Really? Seriously? What…? How much would it be for? I can’t even remember what I asked them for. It was ages ago.”
I had been trying to clutch at so many funding-straws recently. Trying to keep so many different balls in the air that I had no idea what we had requested.
Shaun looked at his phone.
“Hang on. Hang on…they emailed me your original application form. It was for… yeah. It was for six hundred and fifty thousand. Over three years. Which they wanted to agree to.”
“Shit. No way.”
“Yes-way, Stan. And whilst you might not run as tight a ship as I would be doing if I was in your position, I wasn't going to begrudge you the dosh. I won't say anything negative. I mean – sure, I did say that you might want to sort out your ‘let’s have a little gun siege this weekend’ tendencies but…”
I shook my head.
“But what about that… everything on Saturday. When they find out what happened to us?”
Shaun did the thicko-face again and then smiled secretively. I hated that expression of his. He looked at his phone again and tried to sit upright a bit more. Grimaced at the pain.
“Oh, come on. The entire country knows about it all. And that's the bizarre thing about it. Apparently, the siege is exactly the reason behind why they’ve changed their mind and want to fund you now. The Foundation’s money comes from this mega-rich woman called Ellen – one of those founders who likes to get too involved in doling out the dosh.”
“Yeah. Ellen Evelyn. She’s pretty well known in the domestic violence campaigning circles.”
“Well, I’d never heard of the old mare. Anyway. Turns out that she saw the news and remembered that she’d liked your application and that you’d only just fallen short of getting through. She actually called me up herself.”
“Kidding!”
“Sadly not. Started telling me her life story and why she has a passion for campaigning against domestic abuse. I had to switch the TV on half-way through. She didn’t half go on. Ex-husband from Tobago who used to make her stand naked in the gardens of her stately home whilst he fired a bow and arrow at her. God, it was boring - before she’d even got onto the bit about the pony and trap…”
But the rest of his words were lost on me. A heady concoction of shock and relief was pulsing through my veins. Now I wouldn't have to rely on the New Banks loan. Now I could finally focus on the centre itself, rather than spending all my time completing doomed funding applications. Now...
I turned back to Shaun as he spoke;
“And it must have helped - that this Ellen woman actually spoke to one of the 'victims' involved. I played up the old gunshot wound here. And then said that you desperately needed the money. That if anything can prevent this kind of stuff happening in the future – men being violent towards women in our male-dominated culture yah-di-yah - that it’s the Sisters’ Spaces of this world that c
an make all the difference. I’m not going to do the dirty on you for half a million, am I?”
The gobsmacked moment was over. I was now so elated that I clapped my hands together and did a little victory tap-dance. Shaun shook his head but was beaming at me.
“So, Stan. You don’t have to rely on anyone now, do you? Not us lot at the council. Not Martyn Pointer and his little loan.”
“Yeah. Not that you and Martyn ever had a schoolboy rivalry thing going on there…”
“He’s the one with the problem. Like I always say – Short Man Syndrome.”
Elation took over. I dashed over to his bed and grabbed his face in both hands, kissing him hard on the lips;
“You may be a total nobsack most of the time, but you're truly wonderful!” I exclaimed, kissing him again.
Just as Jess walked back into the room, singing out;
“Got halfway down Buxton Road, sweetie - and then I realised! I've forgotten…”
She stopped. A look of abject horror on her face.
“… Your dirty laundry.”
For the second time in two days, my brain flashed into overdrive, causing me to act without thinking. Jess was standing there in the doorway, staring at us. Looking as if her entire world had suddenly come crashing down about her ears. But I seized the day – and the wife - rushing towards her, grabbing her in a huge bear hug and gabbling at her;
“Your husband is the most wonderful man in the world! I hope that you realise how lucky you are!”
And then I gave her a huge kiss on the lips too. Followed by a shriek of;
“Got to go! I’ve got so many desperate women to cheer up!”
And with that, I dashed out of the room.
Later, over the phone, Shaun told me that any other woman in the world wouldn't have known how to have dealt with the situation so quickly, so effectively. But not me. Apparently, I am the best person ever - to have had an affair with - because my behaviour can be so ridiculous and “so off the wall’ that I can convince most innocent bystanders that I have some sort of a serious mental problem.
Cuckoo in the Chocolate Page 39